


Echoes and Airwaves

by PurpleMoon3



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Absentee Fathers, Angels have Hax, But She Tries!, Cas is Crazy, Clairestiel: Castiel as Claire Novak, Families of Choice, Gen, Infinity Gems, Loki is a Smarmy Dick, No Matter the Incarnation, Not Understanding the Reference, S.H.I.E.L.D., S.W.O.R.D., Tesseract!Castiel, Time Travel, When Well-Intentioned Extremists Collide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire!Cas makes it out of Purgatory only to come face to face with a bunch a pissed off pagans and what she suspects is a certain de-powered sibling, Loki, up to his usual tricks.  Throw in a little accidental time travel and Loki is on a journey to become one Magnificent Bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post _Avengers_. Post _Supernatural_ S7.23.
> 
> Cross-posted to FF.net [here](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9819135/1/Echoes-and-Airwaves). Will probably get updated there first.

"No, I'm perfectly sane.  But then, ninety-four percent of psychotics think they're perfectly sane.  So I guess we have to ask ourselves; what is sane?" - Castiel, 8.2

"The sky bleeds.  The ground quakes.  It's cosmic.  No demon can swing that.  Not lilith, not anybody." - Ruby, 4.1

* * *

  
  
Loki had lost.  His army lay dead, his person violated by a dull-witted berserker, and once again Thor was victorious and being lauded by the masses.  It a little depressing, but at least he'd wrought significant enough damage that sweeping his actions away as mere 'tricks' would be impossible.  'Twas not Mischief, but Mayhem as his ever-growing body count continued to rise with every corpse dug out of the war zone.    
  
For sickly shining moment, Loki wondered if he would have made Laufey proud in a way that Odin never was.  
  
 _But I don't have a Father.  None that would claim me, or I them._  
  
Thor's expression was stony, as they entered the park.  Surrounded by flowering trees and birdsong, chittering rodents, it was hard to imagine that just beyond the lines lay the bloated bodies of the Chitauri's living transports.  Loki rolled his eyes as Asgard's heir apparent shoved Stark and Banner's pathetic little capsule -as rushed and _ad hoc_ as it had been Selvig's remained superior- at him.  Loki took the handle and felt the fluctuating energies of the Tesseract flicker against the damping effect of the manacles.    
  
 _…fluctuating?_   Loki forced his thoughts from his own failures and probable execution to the cube of cosmic energies.  Every few seconds a ripple would pulse over the multi-dimensioned surfaces, and the pulses were increasing in a not unfamiliar frequency.    
  
Loki's eyes flicked to the one who once would have claimed to be his brother, to tell him, _Wait, something is wrong_ but the muzzle prevented all sound, any whispered seidr, from leaving his mouth.  Thor turned the handle on the Midgardian contraption, forcing the Tesseract's hand.

* * *

  
Everywhere.  
  
They were _everywhere_.  Dropping out of the sky like possessed comets, the legions of Leviathan circled with taunts, teeth sharp and wide and hungry.  Theses were not those that died, but those locked away by Father.  More physical than any werewolf, vampire, or naga that had died and awoken in Purgatory, after millions upon _billions_ of years in isolation, feeding and breeding on each other they Hungered.  And Castiel's human vessel was just physical enough to _eat_ , with Grace leaking from the many cuts and bruises from a year of almost non-stop battle like an invitation to an all-you-can-eat-buffet.    
  
"Oooooh."  A voice like a snake called as Castiel skidded to a stop at a small cliff.  "Itsy-bitsy angel fell down the mountainside.  Down came the Leeeeevis and ate the angel out!  Up came the sun, and dried up all the blood… and then all the Levi's ate the Cass again!"  
  
Blue-grey eyes peered over the edge to see several gaping mouths ready and waiting.    
  
"We missed you, _sweet_ thang."  Another said, an impossible southern drawl stretched as his jaw unhinged to reveal row upon row of sharp teeth.  "Not nice, to dine and dash like that… after all we did for _you_ … little sister."  
  
Dean was gone, hopefully had made it through the portal and back to earth.  Castiel had successfully lured the Leviathans away from him.  She'd done her best.  She was tired.  More were coming.  
  
A big-mouth lunged, but Castiel was small and quick and ducked under and between his legs.  She took advantage of the brief cessation of ariel bombardment and spread her wings.  
  
Navigating Purgatory was nothing like traveling the heavens, or even transporting her vessel around earth.  It was like being a boat at sea during a storm, and the tumultuous waters were made even worse by the many enemies that shot through her flight path like cannonballs of entropy.    
  
" _You're going to die._ "  Lucifer's voice echoed through the non-corporeal plane, the near sentient madness using Castiel's panic as a foothold.  " _Again.  Do you think Daddy will bother bringing you back?  I mean, you just keep fucking up.  Third time was clearly not the charm._ "  
  
Castiel stumbled, splashing into a stream, and glared at the shade.  "Shut.  Up."  
  
" _Why?  You can't get out.  You're stuck here.  Dean *left* you behind.  Dropped like a hot potato.  Might as well give up.  Let 'um eat ya.  Might be quick!  Sammy's head was sooo much more interesting._ "  
  
Castiel shook her head, shivering even as taken memories of her skin roasting off her skeleton became so strong she could smell the pork.  She trudged toward the bank, water-logged coat dragging her down.    
  
"Hello."  A pair of cold, clammy hands wrapped around her ankles.  Castiel had just enough time to identify the elongated head as belonging to a Kelpie before the aquatic equine pulled her deep.  Castiel twisted, bubbles flying from her mouth as the monster expertly wrestled the small angel and tied her in her own clothing.  Dull teeth bit down, breaking bone, and in a desperate move Cas shifted back to the other plane.  Her clothing ripped, and her wings tore under the force of the starved Kelpie's rage at her prey slipping form her fingers.  
  
Buffeted by Purgatory's gale, Castiel flew.  Leviathans snapped up her scent.  Harpies screeched at her passage.  Hostiles were Everywhere.  This was to be her existence, for as long as that existence continued.  
  
Maybe it was a punishment for trying to take Father's place.    
  
She'd failed.  Whatever the test had been, Castiel had failed it.  
  
Had she been corporeal and not mid-flight, the wail that escaped Castiel's mouth would have shattered glass and cracked earth.  
  
Lucifer was at her ear.  " _Blasphemer.  Traitor.  Kinslayer._ "  
  
Castiel's grace flagged.  She would need to reform soon, or risk permanent damage to her vessel, and the Leviathans were catching up…  
  
Something like Grace flickered ahead.  It was dim, hidden in a high tree -but Castiel had heard rumors, before, or portals that lead from Purgatory to Hell if one was of a mind to find them- but there was a certain dulled familiarity to the energy wavelength.  It felt like home.    
  
Could there be another angel here, hiding?  
  
" _Going to kill him, too?_ "  Lucifer asked, curious.  
  
"No."  Castiel whispered, girl-small fingers reaching for that shining, flickering blue light that grew more familiar the closer she came.  She knew who it was.  Dean said he'd died.  "But maybe he'll kill me."  
  
Castiel screamed as the blue swallowed her, pushing from one plane to the next like meat going through a grinder.

* * *

  
Loki hadn't quite expected the reception that waited for them.  No doubt Heimdall had alerted Odin that Thor was returning, for once the two rematerialized on the still-broken BiFrost an entire contingent of guards awaited them.  Waiting on a pedestal were even more shackles, a collar with matching manacles for hands and feet.  It was a compliment; the best he ever received.  
  
Some did battle, others did tricks.  
  
Loki did both and thus he was doubly dangerous.  
  
And it seemed that Odin, at least, could recognize the warning signs the Tesseract was giving off.  His good eye crinkled as the guards stepped forward to take Loki from the Thunderer and put the newly made chains in place, but as he rushed forward the ceremony was disrupted.  
  
"Thor, quickly, give me the Tessa-"  
  
Too late, the Cube shone like a small sun, and with a roar energy exploded outward knocking everyone off their feet.  It was only by hastily grabbing the handle of Thor's immovable hammer that Loki wasn't blasted _back_ into the Void, this time without access to magic to save him.  Several of the decorative soldiers Odin had brought out were themselves cast into the Black, unable to keep their footing.  
  
"By the nine-!"  
  
The Tessaract as it had been was no more.  Surrounded by the remains of the Midgardian device and shards of dying Cube was a naked girl-child.  She was wet as though covered in birthing fluids, and battered _crackling_ wings of energy fluttered at her back.  Tired eyes glowed with the cerulean, cosmic power of the now missing Tessaract.  Selvig _had_ referred to the thing as a _her_.  Her blonde head turned, birdlike, taking in Asgard and her people.  
  
She froze when she saw him, confused face blanking.  What left her lips was a whisper, but in the silence left by her entrance all could hear the word, "Brother?"  
  
Loki didn't know why she said it, but he could see the way she looked at his chains, his muzzle, at the armored and bristling warriors around them.    
  
Her next word was spit as she stood on colt-like shaking legs.  " _Pagans._ "  
  
That little chest heaved as Odin slowly advanced on the girl, eye narrowed as energy gathered around the King's hand.  The girl's expression remained composed, but then she spun on her heal and ran.  And crashed into Loki, wrapping her arms around his waist and sending them both over the edge…  
  
Loki's blood rushed in his ears. 

_Not again, no, no, not again please….!_

* * *

  
"No!"  Thor yelled, grasping at air as his brother and the girl disappeared over the edge of the not-yet-rebuilt BiFrost like he did in so many nightmares.  "Loki!"  
  
Thor watched, disbelief and despair thick, his Father once again at his side as they watched Loki fall… but then portal-like energy crackled, and Loki _vanished_.  The strange girl that looked upon the Trickster with wonder and called him _brother_ with him.


	2. Fun with Icebergs

 "You got a trickster on your hands." - Bobby, 2.15

"He had disobeyed his king… his fate is in his own hands now." - Odin

* * *

  
They were falling through darkness, but the pinpricks of light in the sky and the single shining moon suffused the air with a comforting, non-Void glow.  The iron like grip on his torso loosened as they dropped.  Loki twisted, desperately trying to orient himself before man and child slammed into the midnight ocean like a bird crashing into a sparkling window.    
  
It was a softer landing than hard earth, but not by much.  Worse yet, dear Thor's muzzle and manacles were still in place and weighing him down.  Loki kicked for the surface, eyes stinging from the salt, and watched as the girl drifted away from him.  Arcs of dying energy followed the small body into the abyss.  It was incredibly difficult to swim without the full use of his arms, even discounting the added difficulty of the incredibly dense iron alloy sinking his magic and his arms.    
  
The glow had left her eyes.  Loki's lungs fluttered in his chest, desperate, but the burn was nothing compared to what he had been trapped in before the Chitauri found him.  She was sinking.  Unless they'd come down close to land, it wouldn't matter if he reached the surface or not.  One could only tread water so long before everything gave out and the soft, soft black-blue lulled one to sleep where pressure crushed all your worries away.    
  
He didn't even have the magic to save himself.  
  
Loki shot a jet of bubbles out his nose and turned himself around, pointing with his arms and kicking hard.  He used the added weight of the chains to his advantage, searching out the last spot he'd seen a flash of light.  If he looked up - and suddenly he couldn't be sure it was up, the light was far the darkness was everywhere- and his eyes hurt and his head throbbed and his chest burned…  
  
His fingers touched a stringy strand in the dark.  He put on a burst of energy and caught a fist-full of hair, jerking the body toward him.  She was cold, clammy, the faint pulse of blood under his fingers the only sign of life.  Loki's stomach curdled.  They were so deep he couldn't see the moon anymore, and they were steadily sinking deeper.  
  
He had no magic.  He was-  
  
 _I have me.  As always. There is **me**._   
  
-clutching the girl impossibly tight, hoping his half-assed plan would work.  Loki turned inward, beyond what Thor's chains would leech away.  No time for illusions and fantasy.  There was only cold, hard truth.  The water practically freezing.  
  
Unseen in the dark, Loki's skin lost all warmth as the water around them hardened and gradually carried the two upward.

* * *

  
Castiel is drifting.  Angels have no need of sleep, but Castiel knows what it is to be human, to be utterly exhausted, and she gives in to the soft drifting between awareness and true unconsciousness.  All sensations are somewhat dulled when wearing a vessel, grace coating and suffusing human nerve endings like a sheath of velvet steel, and the frigid waters of the Pacific made a serviceable enough bed.  
  
The last time she'd passed through she's been looking for God, but Dean's necklace never warmed in her hands and all that was left was a lonely despair as her disobedience barred her from her brothers and sisters in arms.  She'd still prayed, then.   
  
_What am I supposed to do?_   
  
Perhaps falling, sinking to the bottom would be best.  Then she wouldn't be at risk for messing up so fantastically.  She was -before everything else- a soldier, a weapon to be pointed; that was what she had been shaped into existence for… she wasn't Heaven's Sheriff or Father's Heir.  That had been Lucifer's sin, hubris, and now hers as well.  
  
 _Jesus wept._  
  
" _Maybe._ "  An unwanted faint voice echoed out from the back of her mind.  " _Maybe Father keeps bringing you back because he doesn't want you with him.  Exile for Eternity.  Doesn't it burn…?_ "  
  
There was a cradle of cold around her.  Lucifer gave an annoyed huff as the comfort drowned out the tangled memories of hook and hot irons and too many brothers and sisters falling to the warped remains of souls just to give her time to get out.  Forty years.  
  
"You're crying…"    
  
Between one sluggish thought and the next, Castiel came to full awareness and the sight of Sol setting over the horizon.  She was lay propped between her brother's sprawled legs.  Red eyes, but not the opaque film of a demon, watched her wonderingly.  A periwinkle finger trailed along her cheek, frosting wet droplets with its passage  and gathering one drop on the tip.  He raised the diamond like tear to the dying light, then smirked and tucked it beneath crackling leather.  He smiled down at her, a certain smarminess that was achingly, painfully -her brother had not been cruel when she'd been mucking up his game with the Winchesters, but he had not been _kind_ either- familiar.  
  
Why was he always assuming strange faces?  Couldn't he be content with one?    
  
The finger was back, absently tapping her nose.  "Hmm.  Now what I am to do with you, my dear Tessa?"  
  
Castiel uncrossed her eyes, nose wrinkling as she focused on the decidedly not angelic iris' above her.  An unsettling idea skittered along her spine.  "My name, is Cas-" _-tiel_.  Could she claim such, after everything she'd done?  "Cas.  My name is Cas.  Not Tessa."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"Yes."    
  
She shook herself and reached up, ignoring the aborted movement to flee as she took his face in her hands.  Blue bored into red, and the niggling worm of an unhappy thought danced into the fore.  She could see pain, and regret, and rage that would give Lucifer a second thought… but instead of a renegade angel hiding beneath layers of mythos and enchantment there was only the faintest of echoes… like holding an old conch shell and hearing the ocean it had once been a part of.   
  
_Anna._  
  
Chain clinking, her brother gripped her wrists and gently tried to lower them.  Castiel dropped her arms to her lap, head bowed.  Her mind grew pleasantly blank.  "You don't remember me, do you?"  
  
This time the smile was brittle, the eyes wary.  "Let's try this again."  Her brother spoke, voice pitched oddly.  "I am Loki.  And you're Cas.  It is a pleasure to meet you."  
  
He raised her hand to his lips; dropped a light kiss on them.  Involuntarily, she blushed. 

 _Of course. You never really change, do you, brother?_  
  
Grace sparked inside her, yawning like a cat, and the thought of how much stronger she'd now become -strong enough to be Raphael's equal despite the suspicious lack of ill-gotten souls- and as she squeezed her hand her own blade filled her empty palm.  Loki stiffened before curling forward, curious.  
  
"Is that? It is!  An Uru blade…"  
  
Eyes narrowed in concentration, Castiel set blade to shackle and slowly, carefully, began to saw.    
  
They both ignored the sparks pockmarking their skin.


	3. The Man Out of Time

"So what, you're like a Delorean without enough plutonium?" - Dean, 5.13

"The insanity of the plan is of no consequence."- Dr. Zola, _Captain America: The First Avenger._  


* * *

Loki, invisible, watched the mortals of manhattan go about their day as thought he had never summoned forth a horde of blood-starved Chitauri from the Tormented Space.  He'd expected more of what he left behind, perhaps enough improvement to have bodies of his useless army cleared away, but there was not a single sign of the war he'd brought to them… though there were signs of **a** war.  It was hard to miss all the propaganda cleverly hidden about, bright posters standing in contrast to the grimy streets and forced cheer:  _Food is a Weapon, Don't Waste It_.  Several images proclaimed the virtues of gardening, and one Loki found particularly memorable depicted a man riding with a ghost the fallen prince could only assume was the much hated Hitler.  
  
The Trickster walked through the early morning streets at a leisurely pace, carefully avoiding the streams of humanity as he adjusted his clothing to match the times.  Truthfully, there wasn't much that needed changing as a good fitted suit was always a good fitted suit, and the Midgard that the Tesseract had brought them back to wasn't so far back in development that brightly colored puffballs and cod-pieces was the height of respectability.  Loki wandered up to a young boy with a stack of thin papers under his arm hawking his wears.  The child's trousers were fraying at the bottom, but for all the shabbiness plump rosy cheeks said someone looked after him.  
  
Smiling, Loki banished his concealment spell and waited.  The boy held his paper, shouting at some woman with her hair tied tight under a kerchief, and sighed when she shook her head and walked on.  He turned, and promptly fell backward onto his ass with a cry of surprise.  The surprise quickly gave way to a wide, cheeky grin and an offering of newspaper.   
  
"Sir!  Ah, sorry, didn't see you there!  We got the _Hun_ on the _Run!_ "  The headline was prominent.    
  
Loki took the paper and flicked a nickel at the boy, who expertly caught the coin and dismissed the rude gentleman with barely a thought.  Loki wondered how long, if at all, it would take someone to notice that there was a nineteen ninety-four coin circulating in -Loki glanced at the paper for confirmation- nineteen forty-four.    
  
Smiling, Loki tucked the paper under his arm and continued on his walk, mind racing.  Sixty-eight years into the past.  Even with the Tessaract at his disposal Loki had thought, had known in a way that all sorcerers knew, swimming against the flows of time was a dangerous and nearly impossible thing.  Only the Time Gem was capable of allowing the user to travel to the past without causing a self-annihilating paradox, but that treasure had been lost to, well, time.  The only Infinity Gem with a known location was the Power Gem kept with the Gauntlet in Asgard's vaults.    
  
 _Correction.  In Approximately seventy years time Odin shall have Soul Gem as well, delivered unto him by his unwitting son.  And the Titian still has possession of the Mind Gem, though I at least am free of its influence… which leaves the remaining three still unaccounted for.  Space, Reality, and Time…_  
  
A bell jingled above Loki's head.  He removed his fedora and looked expectantly to the smiling waitress at the bar.    
  
"Good morning!"  Her cheeks flushed and Loki turned up the charm, complimenting hair that must have taken hours to curl.  Loki hopped onto a cushioned barstool and brushed his fingers against hers as she handed him a wrinkled menu.  Several things seemed to have been taken off in recent times.  A glass of water tapped the wood in front of him.    
  
"If it pleases you, I'd like some Pancakes."    
  
"It would please me greatly."  She playfully responded, "Would you like anything to drink?  I'm afraid syrups and honey are by request only with extra charge.  We do however has excellent strawberry jam, local.  The boss' wife is very proud of it. The coffee is a bit weak right now, what with the war and all, but our tea is excellent."  
  
"Tea then, and the jam."  
  
"Okie-dokie!"  She left, heels clicking, and Loki tuned out the shout to the kitchen.  Instead he flipped open the paper and scanned the articles with half an eye.  Actual  information sprinkled between great clumps of propaganda, the usual advertisements, and on page two a very prominent grayscale splash of what should have been red, white, and blue.  
  
 _Now Mr. Rogers, who is the man out of time?_  
  
"Of course…"  Loki mused, twirling a fork into a pen, and began to sketch out ideas.   Seventy years.  Seventy years with no Other standing over his shoulder.  Seventy years with no Heimdall waiting for the second prince to show vulnerability.  Seventy years of _true_ freedom.  To plot.  To plan.  To prepare.  
  
"Hey, Mister?  You alright?"  The woman asked as she returned with his meal.  When had he started laughing?  
  
Loki covered his dying chuckles with a hand and shook his head.  "I-I'm fine.  Just had a thought."  
  
She rested her elbows on the bar, grinning back.  "Care to share?  I could use a laugh myself, and so could Ern.  Isn't that right, Ern!"  
  
There was a sound that could be taken for agreement from the back.    
  
"Well then,"  Loki slathered the homemade jam over his pancakes and took a bite, relishing the taste.   "How about a story?  There was once a man, called Donnar, who possessed a magical hammer, though through the scheming a clever giant did not possess it for long…"

* * *

  
Loki didn't bother with the door when he returned from his reconnoitering; not that the Tesseract seemed to take particular notice of the trickster's sudden appearance.  A section of carpet had been ripped up to reveal smooth cement underneath.  The little girl sat beside the hole with a bowl of beaten bronze and chalky handprints staining the bright green of her dress.  
  
Loki had picked out the dress.  It was a brighter, lighter shade than his own color but went nicely with her hair and the blue stitching softened the glow of her eyes.  If not for the coat that had come from who-knows-where, she would have looked like an adorable dream in sheep-skin boots.  Loki sniffed at the burnt remains in the bowl.  Myrrh.  He prodded at a tan coat sleeve. "What's this?"  
  
The blonde paused in the act of lighting candles.  "Claire's."  
  
Loki's lips thinned at the unsatisfactory answer.  He had asked, very nicely, for her to stay in the room, but from the ritualized set up his request had not been heeded.  If he remembered his Midgardian History, there were yet certain unsavory individuals on planet with the capabilities to find and track his self-proclaimed sister.  "Who is Claire?"  
  
Cas' face blanked, and she pointedly ignored the question.  Instead she stood and patted her hands clean on her dress, before a glare and blink restored the material to its original pristine state.  Loki wondered how well that trick worked with blood stains.  
  
"Zo-da, Ka-Ra." Uru sliced skin, and Loki felt his heart jump as thick red blood dripped into the bowl.  It moved independently of gravity, circling the sides as power began to build and pulsing blue spider-webs began to crawl up Cas' skin as though tracing her veins.  "Zo-da, Mo-Ka-Ra-"  
  
"What are you doing!?"  Loki yelled as the room began the shake.  He lunged forward, grasping the chanting child by the shoulder and shaking hard.  Her sword fell the ground, disrupting the chalked design and dispersing the energy with a sizzle.    
  
"Bringing us here was a mistake!  I was sending us home!"  Child-wide eyes darted to an empty corner, and she looked on the verge of tears.  Loki breathed out through his nose.  What was home?  What did _she_ know of home?  "The longer we wait to return, the harder it is to do so.  Compound that with how far back we've gone… I was barely able to retrieve Sam and Dean from eighteen sixty-one, and that was a controlled jump with an anchor, if we don't go soon..."  
  
Loki stored away the names Sam and Dean along with Claire.  SHIELD technicians, perhaps?  But SHIELD hadn't gotten very far with their experiments, unless it was something off the books, but then if the Tesseract could warp time and space and assume a humanoid form who's to say what it, she, could and couldn't do?    
  
He ran his fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp and until the tension melted from her shoulders.  "Little sister, I do not _want_ to go back."   
  
"…I do not understand."  
  
He tapped her nose.  It seemed to annoy her like nothing else did, and she was always so cute when her eyes crossed to track his finger.  Going back would be more problematic than helpful.  He had time, and he had a Tesseract with more applications than Odin and all of Asgard ever dreamed. 

 _If the AllFather had known, surely he wouldn't have left her…_   
  
"There is,"  How much should he reveal?  How much did she need to know?  Could he use her power without her consent?  Seventy years… "I am not a nice man, Cas.  I have enemies that have promised to make me wish for something as sweet as pain, and I am in no rush to return to them."  
  
Her eyes wandered back to the empty corner, her little hand squeezing his leg as if staking claim.  "No.  I would not be, either."  She laughed, suddenly, high and girlish.  "All the torture, twice the self-righteousness!"    
  
"You've been tortured?"  He pried her fingers from his knee, instead threading them through his own.  
  
Those baby-blue eyes were suddenly very, very old on her small frame.  "They called it persuasion."


	4. Then: War is Hell

 

"You don't stop being a soldier 'cause you got wounded in battle. No matter what shape you're in, bottom line is you're family." - Dean, 5.7

"Well, I hear differently. And if it's true, and if you are still set on the _insane_ task of killing the Devil, this is how we do it." - Castiel, 5.4

* * *

The fighting had stopped, for the moment, but the cacophony of prayers continued like desperate, angry waves breaking against the jagged shore of Castiel's mind. Some were louder than others with true Faith to magnify the call, and some were the whispers of Atheists in foxholes. She'd brought them into a time of War, where countries battled for dominance and smoke filled the sky from ever-hot ovens and it had been hard enough the first time around.

Before, Castiel had stood intangible, and watched as his Father's last, perfect, creations tore into one another. It had been a war unlike any other she'd witnessed. Yes, humans fought. Yes, humans killed. But, as Anna had whispered in a broken voice for just the two of them, those wars were brutal but full of passion. Straightforward. There was a underlying layer of humanity to the soldiers, and for all the death his reapers were mercifully swift. Sometimes those wars were fought in the name of their Father, and even if Castiel disagreed with the methods she could approve of the sentiment.

In hindsight, however, she wondered if the strategic happenstances of diarrhea during those many crusades hadn't been their Trickster of a brother playing favorites in the most embarrassing of ways.

Oftentimes Castiel had wondered if it had been this last world encompassing war that had broken Annael. Forbidden to do nothing as their flock wasted away, as bright, misguided souls fought. Weapons of great power and destruction were built, proving the potential of humanity, and if they had just been able to do something, anything, appear to those individuals with influence or even on the battlefields themselves? There once had been a time where they could have done such. Where it was expected. A standing order.

But, no, the Garrison did nothing. They had stood as still and silent sentries bearing witness because it had been their only way to honor the madness. She remembered Balthazar looking away, refusing to acknowledge the fighting. Uriel curling his lips as his lion's head rumbled in growing disgust. Rachel prayed. Castiel had watched. Watched her brothers-in-arms wear down as her Commander grew quieter and more contemplative.

For that humans were weak, cosmology speaking, short lived and narrow minded they could feel and they could choose. Free Will, the most precious of treasures. Freedom to follow. Freedom to lead. Freedom to make that choice.

"Mon dieu, mon dieu." Castiel's boots were covered in the rich, red mud that had been churned up by rain and bombs and marching, running feet. She stopped as a grasping hand clutched at her coat, pleas on bloodless lips. She stopped, because he shouldn't have been able to see her. No others even blinked at her passage. "Ange."

But there were always people; certain, special people with the power to perceive. She had thought Dean would be one of these people. Disappointing, and typical, to find one here and now on the verge of death.

There was a noose of golden thread around the man's neck. There were no orders, now, and all her careful, hesitant knocks on heaven's door had been met with hollow, empty echoes as if the Sacred Fields were all abandoned. He was bleeding out, but she could heal him. It was just her, and Loki, and the freedom to choose.

Frightening.

"I miss peanut butter." It spilled out of her mouth. Bobby had made her eat it by the container when she'd been so diminished she had needed to eat. It was only with her grace mere flickers that the taste had been able to pop along her tongue, roasted honey and nuts. Cartons of chocolate milk sipped while a shotgun sat in her lap.

"M'ange, je ne comprends pas."

"I once ordered the rewrite of history, and saved hundreds of lives." Castiel continued, eyes dropping to the fevered brow. He'd probably been mistaken for dead, and then left behind by the triage, but he was special. Faithful. Diluted as it was his blood saw her for what she truly was, picked out the hidden wings and bladed halo. She could save him. "A single action that spawned a thousand more. But, it was wrong."

She knelt down, took the Frenchman by the face and eased his pain away. He was destined to die here. It was not her place to change history. Dean had tried, many times, only to fall into the path laid out for him. Why had it taken pain and Death three times over to see it? Her eyes watered.

There was a special class of angel for this kind of work, but now there was only she and Loki.

Castiel pressed pointer and middle finger to the man's forehead, and watched the pain leak from clouding eyes.

* * *

The Trick would be in taking things slow, planning out for the future. Loki wasn't in the habit of thinking about the Long Game, not when decades could pass between bouts, but unlike his brother he learned from his past experience and mistakes. Pain was an excellent teacher, and he had seventy years with which to revise and plan and make contacts - _contracts_.

Already, in the turmoil that was War and distressed governments Loki had created or usurped several dozen identities. Some of those would, on official documents at least, marry and generate even more personages for Loki to wear like summer and winter wardrobes. Grizzled old men and dainty ladies, a handful of young girls for his little sister, and even youthful soldiers. Some he played out the role and used it to his advantage. He would need a strong, established base, and resources.

Assistance from the other realms would have to be kept minimal. For too long contact with Midgard had all but ceased, even the occasional raids from Alfheim to honor long-ago contracts had petered out in the past millennium. A sudden request or destination to or from the mortal realm would be an anomaly, something that might be talked about as a curiosity and attract unwanted, golden eyes. Only the most discrete of individuals would be possible allies, but such allies were usually bought, and so riches and resources it was.

The Norns would be a good bet. As xenophobic and secretive as they were, if he came to them in the right guise Karnilla could be bargained with. The quiet, long standing war she had with Odin regarding Baldur was well known and would only serve to help Loki's cause.

But first, before all that, his strongholds on Midgard had to be cemented.

How convenient the power vacuum left behind by the Red Skull had yet to be filled.

 _Small bites, Laufeyson. Small bites. Musn't be too greedy. Not yet._ Loki smiled, painted lips pulling into a grin that was half madness, half seduction, and all intriguing. To the gaggle of criminals and mercenaries he appeared a woman, an illusory overlay of hard curves and soft breasts, clothed in the deep green of leathers sentimentality clung to. Of course if they tired to take liberties, if they touched him, the soft bending of light would dissolve and ruin his play, but such precautions wouldn't be a concern for long.

Already his studies into true transformation were progressing nicely, for if he could slip between two opposing races such as Jotun and Aesir on instinct why not male and female?

Loki's voice took on a musical cadence as he tapped his gun -overly large in his hands, with a long barrel perfectly suited to doubling as a club handle- against his crossed arms. "Why, boys, so long for you to confirm my words? Tut-tut. I wonder, how many of my men were lost to your clumsy operations?"

Loki watched as the men balked like peacocks with their feathers ruffled. Some eyed the line of his apparent body, others glared hate into his eyes unused to and chafing at the thought of being lead by a woman. Oh, but Loki couldn't wait for the sixties.

One of them, a man in dressed in civilian clothing with the carriage of an officer pinned her with a look of disdain. "I don't see how that concerns you. Shmidt may be dead, but his vision lives on. Cut off a Hydra's head and three more-"

"Flounder around like a stuck pig." Loki Silvertongue, Loki the Snake, hopped off the barrel he'd been sitting on. His eyes glittered, and his hips swayed in the hypnotic pattern of a cobra's head. "Shmidt disintegrated over the Atlantic. Zola under more locks and keys than a Lord's Daughter's virginity. As for Strucker, well, do you really plan to pine away like a devoted wife on the slim chance he survived the bombing? That he is in any condition to scrap together the frayed, confused heads of the Hydra?"

Sparks of dissent caught on the tinder of uncertainty.

Someone new spoke up. "He is our leader, so long as there is the smallest chance we owe our loyalty."

"No." Loki shook his head, long locks of inky black swirling. "You swore your loyalty to Hydra. With Strucker missing, I. Am. Hydra."

"You fucking snake! You planned this! You whore!" Weapons were drawn, of course. Loki expected it. Welcomed it. He danced in the chaos, whirled and fired his own gun. Lances of eerily familiar blue light -a light supposedly lost along with Shmidt- burst from the barrel and scattered the voices of dissent into so many drifting ashes.

It had taken days to painstakingly carve the tiny runes into the bullets, but the peons didn't need to know that.

Loki wrinkled his nose and stepped delicately around a wounded and moaning man. Light cut through the dreary warehouse like lasers spawned from the newly born bullet holes. Hydra was scattered, factions confused, ripe.

"I have a few policy changes to instate," He commented, pleased that the illusion had held up during the firefight. "First, we are now offering dental! You Are Welcome! Secondly, this feud with the Five Families simply must stop, it is a pointless a waste of resources and time. Domination through cooperation! "

Nameless, faceless minions sorted themselves out, straightened into shaky salutes. What else could they do? Loki would just have to be sure to keep an eye on the more loyal, back-stabbing ones. He could use a personal guard; perhaps even set a detail for dear Cas? One Stark was enough trouble, but an entire clan of bright, nosey scientists…

"Hail Hydra! Madame Hydra!"

* * *

Ice crawled up through his veins, holding him in place even as he fell. He screamed without breath, straining lungs paralyzed by the grip of the cold, and the tears turned to misshapen pearls on his face. He was falling as Bucky had fallen, couldn't do anything but watch as Bucky fell, because no matter how hard he strained or called out he couldn't get any closer.

Bucky's hand reached for his, trusting, calm.

Bucky couldn't see the water below, how the glaciers curved like claws, and Steve couldn't warn him, couldn't save him-

He wasn't falling? Steve shuddered as the heat of the sun soaked into his bones, and instead of his uniform soft flannels and worn jeans wrapped his body. Wood of a dock creaked under his boots, and instead of a winter's wind howling in his ears like a pack of wolves the soft lapping of water chimed on the wind.

Steve dropped to his knees on the dock, the grain of the wood digging into his palms realer than any dream had a right to be. "I'm sorry, Bucky." For a moment, he'd thought he had died, and his failures trapped him in his own personal hell.

"No. You are not dead, Steven Rogers. Not for a while, yet."

A shadow fell over him, small. Sheepskin boots nudged into his sight, and his eyes followed them up to a girl with the bluest eyes. Blue like the cube that had killed his friends, killed Shmidt and ate through metal.

Steve shivered.

"They pray for you." The girl's voice was soft, and sad, and suddenly the blue of her eyes meant nothing. Her shadow stretched over him, incongruent with the size and shape of the child before him. But he felt safe, like something large and soft had wrapped around him. "I can hear them. So many. Little voices. Loud voices. Thrown away voices. They think you dead, others just missing. Still, they pray."

"Who, what are you?"

A half smile was granted him, but no answer. "I remember you, in flashes. Pieces of images. I can see into your heart. It hurts, but… I cannot save you. I'm sorry. Know that you are loved, know that they never give up on you. Know Peace."

Steve could see it, then, with the warmth of the dream sun lighting her golden hair like a halo and the invisible wings of down wrapping him. An Angel to lull him to sleep, to escort him to the other side, or to protect him from the nightmares?

She turned away, and he knew she was leaving even if her power to ward off the cold remained. His chance was slipping. "Wait!" He grabbed the sleeve of her coat.

She blinked at him, lowered her head apologetically. "I have to go, I'm sorry. It isn't time."

"I, I understand. I get it. Boy, do I get the world does not revolve around me, but please. I have to… Bucky. Is Bucky-" He couldn't imagine the alternative. Wouldn't. But a little confirmation, that Bucky wasn't eternally falling, that he was safe and warm and out of this mess…

Those blue-blue eyes drifted, as if scanning for something, before her whole body shook and she stared down at him in solemnity. "He lives."

His heart leapt into his throat, and she was gone.

The water lapped at the dock. There was a fishing pole and tackle box where before there had been none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I got the french right. I tralled through Ask archives to look stuff up. If you're a fluent speaker and have a correction to suggest I am all ears.


End file.
